


Sharkbite

by TrueIllusion



Series: Slices of Life in Schitt's Creek [4]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dramatic David Rose, Established Relationship, Ficlet, Fluff, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Patrick Brewer is a Troll, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:40:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26019682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrueIllusion/pseuds/TrueIllusion
Summary: “Patrick!” David tried to pull his hand free, but Patrick held fast, pulling him further, until they were in waist-deep water. “If you dunk me, I swear to god I’ll--”Patrick was preparing to shove a handful of water in David’s direction when David let out a sudden yelp and practically jumped into Patrick’s arms, his fingers scrabbling for purchase against Patrick’s wet skin.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: Slices of Life in Schitt's Creek [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1852009
Comments: 12
Kudos: 115





	Sharkbite

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my SC writing friends for encouraging me to write this fic, which was a nice respite from a bad day. A special thanks goes out to blackandwhiteandrose and PrettyTheWorld for reading it over for me and feeding me some great lines to make it even better!

“Ooh, that one’s really pretty!”

Patrick smiled as he watched David bend down to pluck a hermit crab shell out of the sand, placing it in the small plastic bucket they’d picked up at one of the beachwear shops along the main drag. David had complained about how _atrocious_ nearly every article of clothing in the store was -- especially the American flag swim trunks Patrick had tried on as a joke -- but in the end, they’d left with a small assortment of plastic buckets and shovels, along with a sun hat for Patrick that David had begrudgingly agreed would be better than his husband being diagnosed with skin cancer. They’d already used the plastic tools to build a sandcastle behind their rented house, and now they were walking along a quiet stretch of beach, hand-in-hand, searching for seashells.

It was a perfect day, really -- one of many Patrick had already shared with his husband in this beautiful place, just close enough to the city to have a decent selection of restaurants, while far enough outside to be secluded and calm, which was exactly what they’d both needed.

A glint of green in the sand caught Patrick’s eye, and he bent down to retrieve a small piece of sea glass, adding it to their collection.

“You know, I can’t believe you’ve gone this whole trip without getting your hair wet.” A teasing smile tugged at Patrick’s lips as he watched his husband wade slowly through the ankle-deep water, his eyes scanning the sand for new and interesting shells.

“Mmm… that’s because no one needs to see my hair… undone.”

“There’s no one here, David.” Patrick gestured toward the empty stretch of sand beside them. “Besides, you know I love your curls.”

“And you’d be the only one.”

“Somehow I doubt that.” Patrick grabbed David’s hand, gently tugging him into deeper water.

“Patrick!” David tried to pull his hand free, but Patrick held fast, pulling him further, until they were in waist-deep water. “If you dunk me, I swear to god I’ll--”

Patrick was preparing to shove a handful of water in David’s direction when David let out a sudden yelp and practically jumped into Patrick’s arms, his fingers scrabbling for purchase against Patrick’s wet skin.

The now-empty plastic bucket bobbed in the water alongside them as David gasped for air, each exhale now coming out as a whimper.

“What happened, David? What’s wrong?”

“Something bit me!”

“What bit you?”

“A shark! A shark bit me! Patrick, we have to--” David paused to take in another huge gulp of air. “We have to get out of the water!”

“David, there aren’t any sharks right here--”

Patrick didn’t get to finish his sentence before David was frantically pulling him back toward the shore, which Patrick went along with only because he still had no idea what the fuck was going on. They were only a few feet from where ocean became beach when David tripped and fell into the wet sand, immediately hugging his right leg against his chest. Sure enough, there was a small, crescent-shaped bite mark on David’s ankle, and several tiny trickles of blood beginning to make their way across his skin.

Okay, so maybe it _was_ a shark, albeit a tiny one.

“Patrick,” David whined, between gasps. “I’m bleeding. Oh god, I’m bleeding…”

“You’re okay, David,” Patrick said calmly, already shifting into damage control mode -- a state of mind with which he was intimately familiar after two years of marriage to David Rose. “It’s no worse than that time you dropped your bottle of body milk and cut your foot. I think we just need to clean it and get you a band-aid.”

David, however, was not at all receptive to Patrick’s plan, instead choosing to continue writhing and howling on the sand. “Promise you won’t forget me,” he gasped. “I’ll always love you, Patrick. If you remarry, promise me he’ll be less attractive...”

“David, you’re not going to die.” Patrick gritted his teeth, working hard to keep his voice even despite his husband’s histrionics. “We just need to rinse it off and put a band-aid and some antibiotic ointment on it. C’mon, get up.”

David let out another pitiful cry as Patrick tugged on his hand, eventually succeeding in pulling him to his feet. David leaned heavily on Patrick as they walked back to the house, where David almost immediately collapsed onto the sofa, his arm thrown over his eyes like some sort of storybook damsel-in-distress. Patrick let David sit there, moaning and groaning, while he looked for the first-aid kit. Soon, Patrick was kneeling in front of David, cleaning and bandaging the wound while David continued to whimper every time Patrick touched his ankle.

“There,” Patrick said, smoothing the band-aid over David’s skin. “Good as new.”

David cracked one eye open, peering down at his ankle. “That’s it?”

“That’s it. See, you’re gonna be fine.”

“It hurts,” David whined, his lower lip jutting out. “How do you know it’s not infected?”

“We’ll keep an eye on it.”

“But I might get gangrene, and then my foot will turn green and fall off!”

Patrick shook his head and patted David’s good leg, already sure that it would do him absolutely _no_ good to attempt explaining how gangrene actually worked. “Well, if it does, I’ll make sure to get you the best prosthetic money can buy. Maybe one of those robotic ones that gets hard-wired into your brain.”

“That’s not funny.”

Patrick shrugged as he moved to sit beside David. “Maybe a peg leg, then. You could be a pirate for Halloween.”

“Still not funny.”

Patrick reached over and took David’s hand in his, intertwining their fingers as he leaned over to press his lips to David’s in a kiss that left both of them a little breathless, particularly once his left hand slipped beneath the waistband of David’s swim trunks. “How about we go upstairs, then? I’m thinking it’s _my_ turn to take a bite out of you…”


End file.
